


which path to take (we both need a break)

by perfect_little_fool



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, The Holiday AU, holiday fic, so much goddamn fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool
Summary: There's no silver lining (or should we say silver bells?) to Clarke's Christmas this year with Lexa deciding to end their blooming relationship. When she finds a home-exchange travel website that promises her a holiday getaway and a place far away from her problems, she can't get a ticket fast enough. Too bad she didn't expect to find certain things (or should we say people?) to be where she runs to.(or should we say The Holiday AU)





	1. let it snow

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone! I rewatched The Holiday (with dreamy Jude Law UGH) and immediately loved the idea of throwing these idiots into this universe. let's see how far I get. 
> 
> title taken from Sick of Losing Soulmates by Dodie, with one or two word changes to better fit the fic.

“Wait, she said _what_?”

“She called me transparent.”

“Like a ghost?”

“Ha, she used that word too.”

There’s a stiff silence on the phone. Clarke can visualize the gears turning in Raven’s mechanical brain, working around what insult to say about Clarke’s now-ex-girlfriend. 

“Lexa was always a fucking lunatic to me,” is what she finally settles on. 

Clarke rolls her eyes where Raven can’t see her since she’s on speaker phone, filling up her travel mug with the rest of the coffee from her pot. The tile under her feet is cold, too cold, and she wonders why she hasn’t put socks on when that’s usually the first thing she does upon waking up in the morning. Lexa always bothered her about just _wearing_ socks when she goes to sleep and Clarke constantly explained that she hates wearing socks when sleeping, always has, she would much rather just keep a pair right on the floor so she can slip ‘em on with no fuss. Now here she is, all in a tizzy because Lexa broke up with her and she was too absent minded when rolling out of bed this morning to actually throw them on. 

“If she was always a fucking lunatic to you then why didn’t you say something when she first asked me out?” Clarke laments, setting her coffee down to return to her bedroom. There they were: her red and gray soft ones, probably her favorite pair, sitting on the ground next to her shoes. 

“Because she wasn’t like, a lunatic _then_ , ya know? Her lunacy started to show over time. Just like her fucking pretension.”

“Well, back to the point. She said I’m transparent because I’m not ‘always there’ with her or I ‘feel far away even when we’re laying right next to each other’. It was all this weird bullshit about how I needed to be more present. How much more present can I get when I was the first one to say I love you?”

Raven clucks her tongue. “You adored that girl. I don’t know what she could possibly mean by all that garbage. Don’t let it get to you. You were a damn near perfect girlfriend.”

Clarke finishes lacing up her boots, wondering how Raven could say that but Lexa believe nothing of it. “I was supposed to go home with her and her family for Christmas.” 

“Holy shit, really?”

The huffy blonde just makes a noise in confirmation.

“Wow,” Raven says. Clarke can tell she’s put off even more. “That’s only three weeks away. This seems fucking planned.” Raven’s brazen forwardness only stuns Clarke sometimes, and this is one of those times. “Well, fuck Lexa and her family. You can just go see your mom in Tennessee, I know it’s been a hot minute since you managed to get out there.”

“Ah, that’s a no-go. Her and Kane decided to do a destination holiday this year. They’re going to Greece.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

Clarke doesn’t want to dwell on her lack of holiday plans this year. It’s not like Christmas has ever been particularly special for her. When she was younger and Santa was real and everything seemed so wonderful and magical--sure. Hasn’t felt that way for years though. Hot cocoa can only keep you warm for so long. 

“It’s okay, I’ll just have a Christmas at home this year. I’ll watch shitty romantic holiday movies on Netflix and make myself some Pad Thai or something.” AKA, what Clarke did last year when Lexa said it was ‘too soon’ for her to meet her family. “I don’t want you worrying about me.”

Raven sighs in just the way she does when she’s equal parts exasperated and understanding. “You know I will nonetheless. I’d invite you out to my place for it but Roan and I have to travel for a conference the week of. I just don’t want you to be sad and alone on what’s supposed to be one of the most joyful days of the year.”

“I got my good cry in about it last night. Don’t worry.”

“You don’t cry.”

“Well, I at least tried to.”

“Seriously,” Raven continues, “try to figure something out. I can send you a couple links for affordable vacations around this time of year. Yeah?”

Clarke swallows, a lump suddenly in her throat. “Yeah.”

Raven chuckles, the sound weirdly metallic in her ear. She misses her best friend. “I’m glad you’re gonna make the effort. Well, kid, thanks for calling me so I could learn all about how Ms. Priss dumped your ass spur-of-the-moment last night. If you need anything from me you holler, yeah?”

“Kinda hard when you live a few states over, but sure, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Virginia’s not _that_ far from the city. Love you, nerd.”

“Love you.”

Clarke sets her phone down on the counter when coming back in her kitchen to pack her bag. As she’s making sure her charger is in with her laptop, she spots a yellow piece of fabric on her sofa across the way. She zips up her briefcase before walking over, reaching down to the cushions to pull out a Kate Spade scarf lost in the folds there. Ah. 

She holds it in her hand as she moves back over to her phone. It’s not until she’s opening her Messaging App that she pauses. Should she be the first one to text after it all? Would that seem desperate? What’s the appropriate protocol here? 

_Don’t be fucking silly, just do it._

Ugh, Clarke hates how her inner voice slightly mirrors Lexa’s. 

She types quickly, trying to seem uncaring, and sends it. She releases her breath when the deed is done. But when she reads back over it, her heart drops. God, she sounds pathetic. 

_Hey Lexa! Sorry to be a bother, just wanted to let you know you left your scarf here. I can drop it off at the college if you need me to? Or you can swing by sometime and grab it? Totally up to you!! ___

__Clarke throws the scarf back on the couch. Fuck Christmas._ _

____

___

New York City is blasted as the place to be for the holidays. Snow, lights, spectacular shows, shopping--it does sometimes look like an actual winter wonderland. Yet, there’s downsides to life’s beautiful things.

“I have snow in my boots,” Clarke groans upon falling into the art gallery doorway. She plops onto one of the lobby’s chairs and starts pulling off one Doc Marten. 

“Good morning to you too.”

“Hi Lincoln,” Clarke breathes. He’s standing by the front desk like he does every morning. She shakes out the now-melted snowy water into one of the fake potted plants near the entrance. “I hate snow sometimes. I really do. When it gets dirty it looks like someone shit in a pile of it. Gross.”

She glances over at her friend just as he raises his eyebrows. “Everything all right? You seem a bit tense.”

Clarke hesitates. Is it worth it to start sharing it all with everyone? The last thing she wants is pity. She hates that downturned brow people throw at you, or that little fake frown. What she wants is silence. She wants people to ignore it, act like there isn’t a caged tiger in the room that embodies her issues. 

It’s Lincoln though. He has respect for it usually. 

“Lexa broke up with me last night.”

Silence is indeed what she gets. She waits to make eye contact again until after she’s put her boot back on. When she does, he’s just pensive. His stare always makes her feel like there’s something on her face, when she’s aware there isn’t. He just has that vibe about him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her sincerely. “I know how much she meant to you.”

“Yeah, well,” she looks away as she stands back up. “All good things must come to an end.” She could tell he had something to say by the pregnant pause that follows, so she decides to not give him the opportunity. “Didn’t mean to be late. I woke up past my alarm and then took the time to call Raven and update her. You know how phone conversations with her can go.”

“I’ve heard.”

She breezes past him while saying hello to Fox at the front desk. He follows her wordlessly to the back rooms. Clarke’s office is toward the far corner of the art gallery’s building, tucked away beside a utility closet and fire door. She doesn’t mind though--she enjoys privacy more often than not. 

“Are you doing all right?” Lincoln repeats. Well, not quite. But it sounds a lot like the question he just asked minutes ago. “I could always talk to Pike and get you a day off if you wanna take it to compose yourself.”

“I’d rather stay busy, but thanks for the offer to help. I promise I’m okay, Lincoln.”

Even as she says it, she feels a tightness in her chest. It’s the same knot that had formed moments after Lexa said the words _I think we need to separate_ last night. Clarke has always loved the fact that she’s so good at protecting herself, can keep a wall up when necessary. She hates that Lexa had been able to get on the other side of it, even if only a little bit. She had knocked a brick out. 

“Sure,” he answers. And just like that, they’ve moved on. “Everything working out with Atom’s exhibit? I know he’s been a little all over the place with telling us when his pieces are gonna get here.”

Clarke gives him the run down on their newest artist she’s attempting to feature, Atom, who seems to be flaky enough to the point that it’s getting on her nerves. She’s managed to get a couple of his pieces from his workshop to their prep room, but it’s taken a lot of coaxing and calm phone calls. She learned her soothing voice from her mother. Another thing she hates. 

“Other than Atom and the Nude in Nature exhibit, we have a full house, yeah?”

“Looks like it. We have a nice stocked gallery until February.” She enters her office and flicks on the light, immediately reaching out and ticking the moving arm of her Garfield statue. A gag gift from Raven. “Once I have the final stuff from Atom, God help me, the stress will be off my shoulders and onto yours.”

“Can’t wait to get out of here for the holidays, huh?” Lincoln asks, sitting in the one plush office chair she had decided to splurge on. The only other seat is the spinning leather one she calls hers, given to her by Fox when she got a new one for the front desk. “I wish I could take a vacation, but it doesn’t seem doable.”

Clarke sets her briefcase on the desk. “Ah, no vacation for me either. Well, Raven might try to eradicate that, but we’ll see.”

“She inviting you down to Virginia?”

“No, she’s apparently going to send me links to some travel websites. Wants me to go somewhere since I can’t visit my mom this year.”

There’s another pause between them as she pulls out the paperwork she needs to finish for Atom’s exhibit. The Nude in Nature one was completed weeks prior since the photographer has done plenty of these before. Some guy named Jasper who settled on the West Coast recently--Clarke Skyped him once to smooth out wrinkles, but other than that he sent all his work digitally and they had them printed professionally. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. 

“I have a suggestion for that too. Maybe,” Lincoln clears his throat. She can tell he’s being tentative because he doesn’t want to appear like he’s stepping over an unspoken boundary line. That’s why Clarke appreciates his friendship. He’s considerate. “My step-sister Anya and i used this one agency when we wanted to take a last minute trip to California to see her dad. Very efficient, super affordable, and they leave all the details to the clients. I recommend it.”

Sure, people getting into her holiday business and trying to get her to leave town was starting to become annoying. Increasingly so. But maybe it’s his gentle tone, or the underlining worry in his facial expression. Or maybe it’s the tension in her shoulders really starting to get to her. Maybe it’s the movie playing in her head on repeat of Lexa getting up and leaving while Clarke is curled in a ball on her own couch. Or, possibly, it’s because of the snow in her boot this morning. Regardless, Clarke can feel it there, on the tip of her tongue. She wants to agree. She wants to take any recommendation she can. 

She wants to get the hell out of New York for Christmas. 

“Go for it. Send it my way.”

___

_Cute little ranch house in pretty, isolated Missoula, Montana. Now available!_

**-**

_WANT TO GO TO THE TROPICS? OPEN TOWNHOUSE IN JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA. RIGHT BY THE BEACH. NO ALLIGATORS._

**-**

_It doesn’t snow in Seattle, but it does rain! A grey Christmas isn’t too hard to love. Available condo up for grabs right in the heart of the city. Not too far from the very first Starbucks!_

Clarke is starting to feel dizzy from all these ads. None have seemed appealing so far, especially when the one she looked at twice said “no alligators”. To that she says no thanks. 

Her cup of coffee is now cold since she neglected it after starting to scroll through her options. It turns out the site Lincoln sent her was a home-exchange travel agency: _Swap Sites and Learn to Love a New Place!_ She didn’t terribly hate the idea of letting someone live in her house while she lived in theirs. The vetting process seems legit too. 

It’s been a full hour of sifting through different pages. She’d already finished creating a profile for herself and her own apartment for others to look at. She had to upload pictures of the kitchen, living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Which, for her, is the whole shebang. If she can hopefully find someone to switch spots with her they’ll know not to expect much more than what she’s presented online. 

Lexa never texted back. 

It’s not that surprising to Clarke. For starters, Lexa _sucks_ at texting. One of their biggest “heated discussions” (Lexa never called them arguments or fights, she claimed those words made them not productive) was over the fact that Lexa never texted her back. Her rebuttal for every point Clarke made was _It shouldn’t matter that much to you, texts don’t measure our love_. Sometimes it felt like they did though when she wouldn’t hear from Lexa for days. 

Her hope to hear back about the yellow scarf shouldn’t have been so heavy, but she’ll admit that it was. Getting a response would prove...what exactly? That Lexa still cares? Clarke knows her better than that. A reply about a forgotten object in her apartment is too formal. If Lexa had gifted Clarke with a text back, it would have been obligatory. Necessary. Not because she’d been dying to her from her and happy to make conversation. 

When they had decided Clarke would go upstate with Lexa for the holidays, it had not only taken a lot of convincing, but also a whole plan on how long they’d stay in the city to still get their fill of it before heading the way of family. It felt like a more strenuous situation than it needed to be, but Clarke was ecstatic that Lexa finally agreed to let her tag along. It felt like a good step. The right step.

Fuck all that now though. Clarke hopes Lexa gets snowed in. 

The minute she thinks it she takes it back. She knows how important it is for Lexa to go upstate. She’d never wish that upon anyone, including her ex-girlfriend. 

She just needs to get out of here as soon as possible if all she’s gonna think about is her recently-dead relationship and what could have been for the holidays this year. Her chest is starting to feel awfully stiff. 

Clarke decides to take a break from the house-hunting and pushes back from her laptop, grabbing her coffee mug as she goes. It’s as she’s opening her microwave to reheat her caffeine that she hears it. The unmistakable _ding_ on her laptop. She turns around and sees a notification box on her screen. 

As the coffee is nuking she pads across the tile of her kitchen, in her socks, back to her small dining table to read it. 

_Octavia Blake from Phoenix, AZ is interested in your home. Accept private message?_


	2. christmas in july

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaoooo let's see if I can keep this going

With bated breath, Clarke presses “accept” with little hesitation. She’s unsure why this feels so weighted. Maybe because it’s nerve-wracking knowing if this message goes well, she could be booking a flight to stay at a stranger’s home while they stay at hers. An odd set-up. 

A little yellow _1_ appears in her mailbox. She clicks it. 

**Octavia Blake:** _Hi!! My name is Octavia, I’m from Phoenix. I saw your apartment in NYC is posted as available for Dec 8th through the 28th. Is this true?_

So friendly, so sweet. Octavia is such an unusual name, but strikingly beautiful. Clarke can only imagine the face to match it is just as beautiful too. She sets her fingers over her keyboard just as the microwave beeps. 

**Clarke Griffin:** _It is! But the dates can be flexible depending on what would work best for you. I figured I’d set the 8th as an option so things could get in order for travelling._

She steps away to go grab her coffee that’s finished reheating. There’s fluttering under her rib cage for whatever reason. (She doesn’t want to get her hopes up, she can’t expect to find an arrangement that will work out this quickly. Lexa always told her she puts faith in people too easily. Clarke disagrees.)

As she procrastinates looking at her laptop screen for a response, she fingers through the mail sitting on her side entrance table. There’s a postcard from her mom, this one has a guitar and cartoon swirls all over it. The scribble on the back that is Abby Griffin’s handwriting asks that Clarke give her a call when she can: Kane wants to say hi. Jackson also misses her. The tightness in her chest grows ever thicker.

Everything is too much all at once sometimes. She has to blink for the fog to lift. 

Clarke goes back to her open laptop, seeing Octavia has indeed replied now. Twice. 

**Octavia Blake:** _Great! The 8th is in a couple days, I can definitely make that work. Don’t wanna get ahead of myself though...have you taken a look at my apartment that’s up for grabs right now? I can send the link._

Clarke clicks that open in a new tab and finishes off the second message. 

**Octavia Blake:** _I’ve never seen snow at Christmas time._

Is this girl running from something too? Well, Clarke isn’t running. Per se. Just...stepping away. Removing herself from a situation that could grow darker the longer she sits in it. Potentially. She types back before deciding to look at Octavia Blake’s place that’s available. 

**Clarke Griffin:** _I’ve never seen a cactus during Christmas time._

She clicks over to her newly opened tab, immediately taken aback by the cuteness of the picture on the top of the page. It’s a little balcony, the wall painted a dusty pink, with a row of succulents on the ledge. There’s a beautiful orange and teal tapestry strung on the corner of the two walls across from the door that she assumes leads inside. It’s bright, the photo clearly taken smack-dab in the middle of the day. It’s absolutely adorable.

Christmas in July! Chilly in the morning and at night, but easy to wear a thin sweater and joggers during the day. You get the best of both worlds in Phoenix.

Clarke is a little surprised at how delightful that sounds. The idea of sitting by the pool wearing shorts and a t-shirt, sipping an iced mocha under a straw hat, tanning her legs that are whiter than the rest of her? Sun shining, boho chic thrift stores she hears are only on the west coast within a three mile radius? 

There’s a funny feeling blooming in her stomach. She’d call it excitement if the rational part of her didn’t yell in her ear that she needs to get more information. 

She continues through the photos, a smile getting harder and harder to fight off the more she views. It’s in downtown Phoenix, according to the bio. Near the arts district, next to a “lightrail” stop. Clarke googles it and realizes the lightrail is much like the subway, just above ground and not nearly as long, with less stops. 

The small kitchenette is also decorated with more succulents, as well as orange and yellow frames all over the walls of the dining room connected to it. Everything is so colorful, so fun. Clarke spares a glance at her own place, one she was proud of after decorating and arranging since it felt so modern and clean. Very black, white, and gray. 

She returns to the messaging page. _Your place is so fun and colorful! Are the succulents hard to care for?_

As she waits for Octavia to respond, she flits through more photos of the Phoenix apartment. The shower curtain in the bathroom was a bright blue with a green bathmat. Yellow flowers on the back of the toilet and lining the top of the mirror. Bedroom donning a pink theme, with the same mauve color on the bed, rug, AND vanity. Whoever this AZ girl is, she clearly loves to be bold. 

A new message from Octavia Blake pops up. Clarke clicks it open. _Not terribly! Needs water occasionally. I can leave instructions on how to care for them. Plus I’m in charge of feeding my neighbors cat once a week since they leave town Monday and Tuesday for work. Also super low maintenance._

Lexa’s face pops up suddenly, flashing before her interior sight line. _”You’re so distant, Clarke. You may think you’re so involved and so around. Have you any idea how lonely I’ve felt dating you?”_

This is the part where Clarke hesitates, hands poised over the keyboard. Everything's working out, it seems. She found a place to stay, someone to take her place as well. A very nice, warm person to swap with. All of her friends are egging her to do this. Is she? Is she about to? She bites the soft part of the lip before typing without another thought. Time to just take a leap. If all Clarke does is create distance, that’s exactly what she’ll do. 

**Clarke Griffin** : _I can buy a ticket to Phoenix with the click of two buttons. You in?_

___

By the time Clarke is at the airport, she has four new text messages.

She ran late this morning, having overslept her alarm and wanting to shave her legs in the shower when she did finally roll out of bed. Luck was on her side though, as she managed to get to JFK with a little time to spare. Her plane starts boarding in ten minutes and she knows she can down a tall coffee from Starbucks in that exact amount of time. 

Once she finds a seat at her gate, she opens her phone and spares a glance around. Judging by the filled chairs, she isn’t the only one running toward heat for the holidays. She recalls having snagged one of the last tickets for this flight so it must be a full one. 

Three of the four texts don’t phase her, but the fourth one absolutely does.

_Hey Clarke. No worries on holding on to the scarf for a bit - are you free sometime next week for me to come pick it up? If not I’m sure we can arrange something. As you know, I’m out of town for a bit._

Lexa got warmer and warmer in her text messages the longer their relationship went on. When they first started talking and dating, each message felt so formal. So punctual. Periods at the end of every sentence, no feeling between the words. It wasn’t until it had been months in that she had dropped the coolness, let her messages breathe. She actually stopped using most punctuation altogether. That is, until she closed back up and was telling Clarke it was over. 

Clarke bites into her lip, rubbing a finger over her beauty mark. Something she does when she’s unsure of what to do with her hands. How to respond to this?

The blinking line for her to start typing mocks her. She hates knowing that Lexa could potentially see that little gray bubble, letting her know just how much pause Clarke is taking in replying. Fuck iPhones for that feature specifically. 

Luckily, she gets another text in the midst of her uncertainty. She smiles a bit, clicking it open. Her and Octavia had exchanged phone numbers so it would be easy to communicate about whatever need be. They _were_ two strangers staying in each other’s homes, after all. 

_Boarding now!! Hope you have a safe flight as well! Text me when you get to my place if you have any trouble getting the door open. The lock can be tricky :) ___

__Tears prick the back of her eyes. For fuck’s sake, why? She presses the heel of one hand into her forehead and applies firm pressure. A goddamn smiley face? Two exclamation points? Already she’s feeling more connected to this random girl from Phoenix than she ever did with Lexa. Fuck fuck fuck._ _

__As she’s responding with just as much excitement and friendliness to Octavia, the overhead monitor calls for her flight to start boarding. Her stomach lurches._ _

__No going back now._ _

____

___

Sixty-eight degrees? In _December_? Unbelievable.

Clarke was partially tempted to drop by the bathrooms in her terminal after landing to change into one of her crop tops she packed on impulse. She stopped herself though when seeing so many people around wearing somewhat thick jackets and leggings. She’ll change when she gets to Octavia’s apartment. No need to get over excited about the lack of snow sticking to the ground. 

When she peered out the window as the wheels touched down, she’d almost giggled at the crystal clear blue sky stretched above her. The miles and miles without any flakes in sight. She’s dealt with snow during winter her whole life--now knowing that there’s a blissful escape where such disgusting weather doesn’t exist makes her fingers itch to pick up a sketchpad. She wants to draw the Arizona horizon ASAP. 

Octavia instructed her to take the lightrail as opposed to calling a Lyft. Clarke does just that, finding it after following some signs and feeling absolutely giddy as she boards what looks exactly like a subway car. Except a tad cleaner with less people crammed inside. 

As she rides her way to the stop that Octavia texted her to get off on, she scrolls through her phone to see if she missed anything on her four hour flight. On instagram she sees Raven posted a new photo with Roan from their convention in Georgia, his large arm wrapped around her small shoulders. Clarke smiles on instinct and double taps it. She decides to ignore the mini pang in her chest at the sight of a happy couple. 

Also at this thought she remembers she never texted Lexa back. “Shit,” she mutters, knowing that slip up will do nothing but feed into her idea of Clarke being distant and hard to reach. 

She taps open their text conversation and rereads Lexa’s response to the scarf situation. As she’s starting to figure out what to say back in her head, she feels a hand curl around her upper arm. She immediately jerks forward in reaction, head snapping around in the direction of the movement. She bumps into her rolling suitcase she has stood up beside her, catching it just in time so it doesn’t fall down. 

She’s face to face with a wide man, his eyes glassy and frame stumbling. “Hey, pretty lady,” he mumbles. “Do you have any cash you can spare?”

She takes a step back, having to grab hold of the pole next to her since the lightrail is in motion. A swallow is stuck in her throat. Nice to know people are just as forward here on public transportation as they are in Manhattan. 

“No,” she replies, putting on the unforgiving, blunt face she reserves for strangers on the subway. “Sorry.”

“You sure?” he shoots back. “Judging by that Michael Kors bag I’d say you have something.”

Before Clarke can retaliate with a harsher denial, the person sitting next to her stands up, slightly stepping in between her and the harasser. “Hey, man,” the guy inserts. “Back off. She said no.”

Clarke scrunches her brows at the back of this guy’s head, full of mussed up dark curls. She peers around it to the man bugging her for money, seeing him shrug it off. “Man, whatever,” he mumbles before turning around and walking down the length of the car. She watches him go stand near another row of seats, getting uncomfortably close to a group of teenage girls. 

The guy who came to her rescue turns around so she can now get a good look at his tan, crinkled face. This was definitely a man who spent a lot of time in the sun, little freckles dotting his nose and a slight sunburn on the bridge of it as well. Either way, he was an outdoors boy for sure. Clarke can feel her own face turn a shade of red before she can help herself. 

“Sorry to have stepped in,” he’s saying and she tunes back into reality. “I’m sure you could’ve handled that yourself, but I could tell he was gonna be a stubborn one. Hope it’s okay I helped out.” 

Clarke moves back to her previous position by the door, sliding around this man with ease and rolling her suitcase with her. “Thank you,” she nods. “I would have been able to handle it, for the record. I come from a place where you have to hold your wallet under four layers in order to not get it swiped from you.”

“Ah. LA?”

“No, New York.”

He nods back before sitting down to take his own previous spot. But he keeps his head tipped up toward hers, a clear indication that he’s not done talking to her. She looks to the map, noting her stop is next. 

“Why you down this way then?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he sits back in his seat. She just noticed he’s wearing a red fanny pack over his torso. 

“Vacation.”

He hums in a reply. His voice is deep, so it sounds more like a rumble in his chest. Clarke shifts. Goddamn, he’s cute. 

“I can understand running to the desert for it. It’s not nearly as cold. If you want to see some familiar sights of snow you could always head up to Flagstaff for a bit.”

The robotic voice overhead tells them her stop will be coming in just two short minutes. “Oh,” she replies. “I didn’t realize Arizona could get snow.”

He smiles, his whole face lighting up with it. She has to curl her hand tight around the handle of her suitcase, tucking her nails sharply into her palm. _Do not get a crush on this rando. Stop it stop it stop it._ “A common misconception. You won’t see any in Phoenix though, so don’t worry too much about it.”

“I don’t even know what to see in Phoenix. That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Oh, there’s tons to do. I could--”

The train pulls to a stop, the robotic voice returning to inform them of the stop. Clarke looks up again to make sure it was the correct thing that Octavia texted her, before looking toward her companion. Her stomach is boiling in excitement that she’s actually here. It’s all happening. “Thanks for the help, again. Happy holidays.”

“Oh, yeah. Happy holidays.”

She gives a small wave before stepping out of the open doors onto the platform. Warmth hits her in the face, sweat prickles the back of her neck, and the sun is shining. The smile on her face breaks into a full grin. 

Merry fucking Christmas to her.


End file.
